


Souvenir

by avocadoave



Category: The X-Files RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 09:39:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4955428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avocadoave/pseuds/avocadoave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gillovny trash fic inspired by DD’s pumpkin shirt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Souvenir

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first stab at RPF. I feel a bit icky about it and I’m wearing my tinhat. I’m a walking contradiction.

She’s leaning on the railing, smoking a cigarette, wrapped in a bed sheet. The suite has sweeping views of Vancouver Harbour, just as the front desk agent promised. At 20 stories up the cruise ships look like toys. A slight breeze curls the smoke and and takes it north. The reflected skyline bounces and shimmers across the water and ship horns echo in the dark.

“You’re such a cliché,” he says, stepping out onto the balcony. He mimics her pose, resting his elbows on the railing, looking out at the water.

“I prefer to think of this look as timeless.” The cigarette dangles from her lips as she adjusts the makeshift toga around her breasts.

“Those are going to kill you,” he says, nodding toward her right hand.

She blows a stream of smoke in his direction. “Fuck you,” she mouths.

“You already did. Several times.”

He reaches out and she passes the cigarette to him. He inhales and tries to blow a smoke ring. She shakes her head.

“What’s that look?” he asks.

“My last two vices,” she says, gesturing to him and the cigarette.

“You consider me a vice?”

“You know what I’m talking about, something that I know is bad for me, but I do it anyway?”

He knows the definition of vice. All the definitions. “A minor bad habit?” he asks.

“That’s you.”

“Molière said, ‘I prefer an interesting vice to a virtue that bores.’”

“An interesting vice. That’s you, all right. Maybe that should go on your Twitter profile. How do you say it in Latin?”

He scowls at her. “Futue te ipsum.”

She smiles and shakes her head. “Uh-uh. I know that one. You forgot who you’re dealing with, babe. I know how to say ‘fuck you’ in 17 languages.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” he chuckles.

***

He comes back to the room with a glass of water. She is sitting cross-legged on the bed, studying her script for Viceroy’s House, wearing his purple ‘eggplant’ t-shirt.

“Hey! You stole that. I’ve been looking for that.”

“You’ve still got pumpkin, beets, kale—I didn’t think you’d miss it.”

“What if I want it back?”

“It’s my souvenir.”

“Your what?”

“Yeah, you know, I spent the summer in Vancouver fucking David Duchovny and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.” She pulls the collar over her mouth to cover her smile.

“That wasn’t all you got,” he grumbles. “There were a hell of a lot of orgasms, too, if I recall correctly.”

“Mm. You do have excellent recall.”

He tugs on the bottom of the shirt. “Will you take it to India with you? Sleep in it? Remember me?”

She ignores his questions. It feels too dangerous to promise anything, even something small, about the future. They live in the moment these days. The demons of their past have been exorcised and the future requires coordinating calendars and trans-Atlantic flights and an implied commitment that neither is ready for. So they carpe diem and they see what tomorrow brings.

She examines the shirt. “Why do you have all these anyway?” she asks. “Why are you advertising vegetables?”

He shrugs.

“Is that all you like to eat?” she asks, brow raised.

“You know it’s not,” he leers.

***

A week later he comes home to a padded envelope outside his front door. He rips it open and dumps the contents into his hand. He unfolds the pink material. There in white block letters it reads,

‘PUSSY.’

He laughs, pulls off his gray t-shirt, slips the stiff, pink fabric over his head and pulls out his phone. A thank you selfie is in order. He hopes the text alert wakes her half a world away.


End file.
